I lick my lips and they’re dry again.
My eyes are worn out.
Drooped down as I watch my feet step ahead.
There is this terrible cloud forming above the mountainside.
This is what I believe.
Blurry as my vision and foggy as my memory.
Aren’t we all very subtle, quaint and delicate creatures.
Walking slowly to existence, we forget the journey before.
Each step creates a fault on the foundation.
To the outside, the visage is beautiful and broken.
Melancholy are her eyes; struggling, as they seek refuge.
Her heart warm and strong carries light as she walks.
She holds the note in her hand as tight as she holds her values.
Moving forward as her ancestors walk beside her.